I was grabbed by a headline in the NY Times today, "How to Be Old". Hey, I'm old, and I'd like to know how to be! So I read the piece. Very forgettable. Except for the very last line: "I’m fond of quoting the poet Philip Larkin: “What will survive of us is love.” That should do it." What a lovely thought! I was charmed, and intrigued.
As the NYTimes does, there was a link to the whole poem at the Poetry Foundation website, "An Arundel Tomb" by Philip Larkin. (The link is preserved in my cut-and-pasted quote above.) I have as an attribute the ability to fall deep down rabbit holes, to keep digging deeper on something that interests me. In fact, one set of feedback from a corporate assessment process described me this way: "When you read an interesting book, you will go look up additional references. More, you will collect many books on different aspects of the same subject, and you will actually read most of those."
Guilty as charged. When I am into something, I'm all the way in. I clicked through to the provided link, and read the whole poem. Then I read the commentary from the Poetry Foundation. Then I read more, and this short quote is not all there is to the poem, or the story.
Philip Larkin is no Mary Oliver; he was a cynic, an atheist, and "notoriously grumpy". My man! Dude! Where have you been all my life? I guess this is what I get for majoring in field trips rather than English. I mean, I'd heard the name, but had no idea what he was about.
Here, the poet is musing on how much we want to believe in love, even when it is not true or pure or simple. Here is the whole thing:
I think it is a better and truer choice to quote the last TWO lines:
Our almost-instinct almost true: What will survive of us is love.
It's the "almost" that makes it real and profound to me, not a saccharine myth, but the human reality. In their day, marriage among the aristocracy was not a matter of romance, but rather business. But we want this romantic image to be true. And by wanting it, it will become more true.
(And, I'm as touched by the little dogs as by their clasped hands.)
I was able to get an ebook of a novel Larkin wrote, so I'm ready to continue to dive even deeper. Apparently I have to go analogue to get any of his poetry books. Maybe.
I know many many people are feeling sad and cut off this Christmas. The situation of our country and even the world sucks. But for me, this Christmas is feeling cozy and comforting. I have a small immediate family, almost no extended family, and not a big social circle. We all got tested Monday, and have been mostly quarantining before and since (except for necessary errands). So actually, while I'm missing some friends and feel keenly for those more isolated than me, this Christmas will be similar to the last couple of years and feels just right. Or very nearly so. It'll be fine.
Christmases of my childhood, youth, and younger adulthood were always with my small family. We moved quite a bit when I was a child, so socially we saw a bit of friends at the holidays, but mostly were turned to each other. From high school until 2006, my parents lived in the same house in the same tiny town, so rituals of Christmas Eve cookies at our friends' house, with always the same other families, followed by late night carol service at the church where my parents were pillars, were welcome additions to our family rituals. While we decorated and celebrated at our own places, my brother and sister and I almost always managed to be there in Bellport for at least Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. When my sister had kids, she and the whole family, sometimes including parts of her husbands large extended family, would come up as well (I think we peaked at 12 people one year). Even as the kids grew anxious about Santa being able to find them away from home, we went there until my mother sold the house and moved down near us. We had a couple of years to establish new rituals, Christmas Eve at my house and Christmas morning (finally!) at her house, with stockings hung by the chimney with care and a big pile of presents.
At age 58, I was suddenly and traumatically thrust into parenthood for my sister's three children, in close partnership with their father. For the first time in my life, I was responsible for feeding not just me, but a whole traumatized family every single day. That first Christmas we were all totally shell-shocked, and my recently married brother and sister-in-law came up with the brilliant idea to go to Topsail Beach in North Carolina for the holidays, along with her three adult children. The place was one of happy summer memories, and we were physically removed from where we had Christmas memories from the past. Still, I remember that time with the kids and their father following through what my sister-in-law and I put together by rote, willing to try but basically robots.
My sister was the social party animal in the family, and I was bound and determined to live up to her standards with the kids. So for subsequent Chistmases, my brother-in-law bought a tree and got it to stand upright in the living room, and I was responsible for absolutely everything else. One year, every single present under the tree was bought and wrapped by me - I even wrapped something for myself. (It's true, my mother didn't get anything at all for the kids or me, though I used some of her money and put "from Grandma" on some tags). With intense jealousy between the kids, I did a spreadsheet of what I'd gotten each one, striving for balance. One year, on Christmas Eve the kids' father bought the youngest an expensive toy, destroying the balance and sparking complaints and subsequent fights when all the presents were opened. Oh well. He was so happy to do it, and it was meant with love. As the kids grew older, the two younger had dark depressive periods where they didn't lift a finger to help decorate, while the oldest physically and mentally separated himself from the others. Christmas was a chore, not a joy. But I kept it going.
I had had an epiphany one night, cursing under my breath as I sorted silverware in the drawer, putting salad forks into a separate slot from the larger dinner forks. Suddenly, I thought, "if they don't care, why should I bother? Does this even mattter?" With that realization, I let go of it, upended the silverware bin from the just finished dishwasher into the drawer all higgledy-piggedly, and I walked away from it. This wasn't anger, but acceptance. I didn't allow things to devolve into complete chaos, and nobody went hungry or got sick from the relaxed hygiene standards, (though one year what my girl wanted for Christmas was forks because they had all disappeared) but things were more relaxed. Instead of living up to some unachievable past ideal, we started to make our own way, together.
Still, for Christmas, I tried to keep things moving. It was such a challenge when I was working! I had to juggle holiday leave with my co-workers and subordinates. When the kids were in school, like all parents I prioritized the week between Christmas and New Year's as the time to be together, but I always took some time before hand to get things ready. I focused on food over decorating, but shopping required many separate trips. We have a tradition now of fancy dinner Christmas Eve at my house, present opening Christmas morning at the kids' (really their dad's) house, and after-nap second fancy dinner back at my house. Each of those meals has some elements that have to be present, others that can change. I recall one year, not that long ago, I had a large chart hand drawn on the whiteboard, with an elaborate project plan and countdown to the big day. For example, if I buy the Christmas roast early, I have to freeze it, and remember to take it out of the freezer and put in the fridge a couple of days ahead.
I had a huge internal celebration several years ago when my big boy took over making the traditional Norwegian Christmas bread my mother used to make. (I had the Julekage mantle for only one year.) This year, the kids have taken over Christmas day dinner, which will be at their dad's house, and we've added to our mix a live-in girlfriend. I'm quite relaxed about my continuing responsibilities for Christmas Eve and morning. It'll be fine. For the first time in some years, my girl and I made cookies. She helped me decorate my house, and is in charge and bossing her father at her house. It'll be fine. I got a new little tree, and so can use more of my ornaments than in recent years. It'll all be fine. Presents are bought. I made festive cloth bags a few years ago, so wrapping is way quicker and wastes way less paper than in previous years. And, it turns out, they all want gifts, but they really don't want much. They want to be together and enact some rituals. It'll be fine. It'll be more than fine. I really like Christmas, and this song captures the feelings just right.
